For as the little Hottentot came into sight Buck hailed him with some incomprehensible question, the response to which was that he and the foreloper had climbed a big tree that was close to the first waggon. "There, what did I tell you?" said the big fellow, with a chuckle, as he interpreted the Hottentot's reply. "My chaps know how to take care of theirselves when them great cats are on the way. Here, you have it out with old Dunn Brown." "Yes," cried Mark eagerly. "Here, Brown," cried the boy, "what did you do when you heard the lions?" "Do?" said the man, rather piteously. "Cut 'em loose--ran--whistled." "Bravo!" cried Dean, joining with his cousin in a merry laugh. "We all ran," sighed their queer follower. "None scratched." "Hurry on," shouted Buck to his men; but the bullocks kept to their slow, deliberate trudge, munching away at the store of fresh green grass that had been collecting since their escape. "Perhaps you young gents," continued Buck, "would like to mount two of the ponies and canter back with the news." "No saddles or bridles," said Mark. "Tchah! You don't want saddles or bridles. Those little beggars will go which way you like with a touch of the hand; and I am not going to believe that you can't get along barebacked. Not me!" "Oh, I daresay we could manage," said Mark; "but our orders were to see the bullocks inspanned and go back with them." "Can't you trust me?" growled Buck. "Trust you! Of course!" cried Mark, laying his hand on the big fellow's shoulder. "I'd trust you anywhere, but--" "Here, I know," said the driver good-humouredly. "Good boy! Always obey orders." But all the same the deliberate crawl of the bullocks made both the lads terribly impatient. "I wish you had got your whip, Buck," said Dean. "Oh, I don't know, sir. Let 'em alone. It's their way. They are going willing enough, and they have had a nasty night. I never give them a touch up only when I see one lazy and won't pull. Then it's crick crack, and I let go at a fly on his back." At last, though, the span belonging to the second waggon had taken their places, and Dunn Brown was at the front waiting for the sonorous "Trek!" which Buck Denham roared out, accompanied by a rifle-like report of his tremendous whip, when Dunn threw up his hands, stepped right before the team, and stopped them. "What game do you call that?" roared Buck, from where he was seated on the waggon chest. "Too--late," sighed the white foreloper, and he drew out his scissors to begin his morning apology for a shave. "Can't you see, Buck?" cried Mark. "Come along, Dean. Just think of that!" For, slowly trudging along, Bob Bacon appeared, bending low under his burden, giving his fellow-keeper a comfortable pick-a-back, having carried him all the way from where he had been found lying helpless, and apparently now not much the worse for his novel ride.